No Breath
by VattaKeto
Summary: "Not being able to breathe is not very pleasant" thought Castiel as Dean's hand encircled his neck, trying to choke him. Set after season 9.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This takes place after season nine, so Dean is a demon. I meant for this to be a one shot, but then I started writing it out and it got a lot longer :) **

**Feel free to leave a review, it helps me write faster!**

"Not being able to breathe is not very pleasant" thought Castiel as Dean's hand encircled his neck, trying to choke him.  
They were in an abandoned warehouse. Sam and Cas had followed what they _thought_ was a lost-and-confused Dean into the desolate building. That's when they found out it was a trap.  
Cas's left hand was attempting, unsuccessfully, to pry the demon's grip off his windpipe. Meanwhile, Cas's right hand grasped Dean's left hand, keeping the First Blade from murdering the angel.  
Dean's black eyes stared deep into Cas's blue ones, daring him to give up. "What's wrong?" Dean asked sarcastically, "demon got your tongue?" His mouth curled into a sideways grin. Cas could only let out another choked sound. His vision was blurring; blood from his head wound was trickling into his eyes making it worse. Dean looked as if he was a painting. 'By Van Gogh' some little part of Cas's brain randomly decided, 'that's what Dean looks like.' The rest of his brain, having decided what to do with his last ounce of strength, took his left hand away from the death grip and wrenched the First Blade from Dean's hand. The crazed grin was wiped off the demon's face as he released the suffocating angel and scrambled to the floor to pick up his precious.  
But Cas had thought about this. As he fell, his vision a mess of colors that made the world resemble a Picasso more than a Van Gogh, his foot kick out, propelling the Blade across to the corner of the room, where Sam was stuck battling three demons.  
As he lay in a heap on the floor, Cas could feel his grace attempting to heal him, as Dean had managed to also wound his shoulder earlier, but he pushed it back. He had an idea; a crazy, suicidal idea. An idea worthy of a Winchester.  
Cas's oxygen-starved brain was spinning and he barely registered that Dean had run off towards Sam.  
He mentally cursed himself. He had taken on Dean specifically so Sam didn't have to. If it came to it, Cas didn't think that Sam could kill his brother. The angel pulled himself off the ground and stumbled towards the brothers.

Sam had taken down the three demons with practiced ease. He whirled around to strike at the figure behind him, but froze and dropped his knives in shock when he saw who it was. "Dean." He said, not daring to let his voice sat more. The demon curled his mouth back into a grotesque parody of Dean's normal smile. "Hello Sammy." The light reflected off the shiny handle of the First Blade at Dean's feet. Sam quickly threw himself onto his brother, knocking the demon over. One punch hit Sam in the face, then another. Sam threw back one of his own. His fist collided with Dean's nose at the same time as Dean's fist collided with Sam's head, propelling the human into a heap on the warehouse floor. The demon hissed and reared back, his head smacking against the wall.

Cas, blood trickling down his forehead and right arm, collapsed next to the injured demon. Dean clutched his bleeding nose, and tried to pull himself up, only to slide back down the wall. "Concussion," a small part if Cas's brain diagnosed. He wiped away a trickle of blood and noticed that his hand was trembling. Not because he was scared but because he was tired. Cas found that his stolen grace was running out faster than he would have liked and it was effecting him both physically and mental. Cas was disturbed how human he sounded.  
Cas glanced around. The warehouse looked darker than it should; He could barely make out Sam in the distance. Cas reached over to the demon, his hand still shaking, and touched his forehead.  
He had thought that when the last of his (stolen) grace left him, he would feel... _something_. But there was only the endless feeling of being tired. So very tired. His hand dropped from Dean's forehead and into his lap, completely limp.  
Cas watched as Dean's eyelids fluttered open. Even with his damaged and fading vision, Cas could see the emerald sparkle of Dean's eyes; the monstrous solid black had fled his beautiful eyes. Cas could no longer keep his own eyes open. "So beautiful," he murmured, his eyes shutting. " 'so beau... T-i...ff..."

The world was black. Cas hated that. The color black reminded him of Dean's eyes (dancing, sparkling, jovial eyes). Dean's eyes were green _not_ _black._ Green like the wide expanse of forests that Father had made. How he missed Father.  
A lone, grey figure appeared in the distance. It walked at a leisurely pace towards Cas until it was visible. Even though the world was still engulfed in darkness, Cas could see who the figure was: Death. Death, saying nothing, reached out his hand towards the fallen angel. Cas reached his own hand out instinctively.

The world exploded into a brilliant and blinding white light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Wow! Chapter two... many thanks to those of you reading this! **

**I should probably mention that this chapter is sad. You may want a tissue. Or two.**

Dean watched groggily as Cas complimented him. Some part of his brain registered that he was getting compliment from _Cas_ for God's sake; he must be losing his mind. Dean pulled his hand up to his face; his head felt like it was spilt in two. Or three, with a possibility of it being in four parts.

He watched as Cas's blue eyes (bluer than the sky, always sparkling, but not now, why not now?) slid closed. Dean's thoughts began to become more coherent. "Cas?" He mumbled at the limp form. Limp? Wait. "Cas! Hey buddy, wake up. Wake up Cas... Cas!" Dean has begun to shake Cas, attempting to revive the fallen angel.

But the angel would not stir. "No!" Dean whispered, as he noticed the blood. "Cas..." his voice wasn't audible to anyone but himself. A sob ripped from his throat. "No! Cas! Dammit... Oh God, Cas!" Dean cradled Castiel's head, pressing it against his chest; willing the angel to live again.

Sam had begun to stir. He groaned and clutched at his head; demons punch really hard. Sam heard a sob from somewhere near the wall. Did some hapless person walk in without him and Cas noticing? Sam picked himself off the ground. After the world stopped spinning more than it usually did, Sam carefully walked around the demon bodies towards the sound. He looked at where the crying was coming from... And froze. "Dean?" Sam asked softly, not daring to believe his eyes. Dean sat against the cold, barren wall of the warehouse. Blood stained his nose and the lower half of his face. Cas lay unconscious ('or dead' said a little voice in Sam's head that sounded a lot like Lucifer. To which Sam refused to dignify with a response) in Dean's lap.

Cas's shoulder had a nasty slash down to his elbow and some sort of head wound that led to blood dripping into his eyes. Which were closed.

Sam drew in a deep breath as his eyes widened, making look like a moose in headlights. "Dean?" He asked softly, his voice steeped in worry. "Hey... Dean!" He spoke louder, practically shouting. When had the room become so quite? Sam stumbled towards his brother and the angel. "Dean! Are you okay?" Dean said nothing, but let out a strangled, restrained sob. Dean felt like he couldn't breathe. He was not okay, and would never be again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! This is the dreaded funeral... **

**I decided to use Hannah in because she's one of the few sympathetic angels who's still alive. I originally wanted to use Gadreel, but that's not an option. Weird thought, but the Winchesters don't know that Gadreel is dead, do they? **

**(also, there's an author's note at the end of this chapter with a teaser for the next chapter!) **

The funeral was held a week later. Only three people attended: Dean, Sam, and Hannah. Dean had refused to make a big deal about it and Sam had agreed that Cas wouldn't have liked a flashy funeral. Dean had grudgingly allowed Hannah to come, as he still remembered how she had order Cas to kill him.

The sun shone brightly on the field outside the Bunker where they had decided to lay Castiel to rest. Dean had glared at the sun, mentally screaming at it for being so damn cheerful on such a solemn day.

A simple little tombstone was placed above Cas's body. It was a homemade gravestone, the words etched in Dean's very own handwriting. It read "Here lies Castiel. Angel of the Lord, savior of the world, friend." No words were spoken during the burial, but then, what were mere spoken words compared to Castiel's life? He had witnessed the beginning of humanity, had watched them grow up, defying the odds, until they became the dominate species on planet Earth. He had fallen in love with humanity, and he had died for it.

After shoveling the last load of dirt onto the casket, Dean collapsed onto his knees. Regret was rushing through his thoughts, consuming his mind; words he wanted to say or unsay events that he wished had played out differently. Dean kept remembering the warehouse, trying to think if Cas's death could have been prevented. The words that haunted Dean the most were not, surprisingly, ones spoken by him. It was one of Castiel's brethren, (Hanna? Heather? Oh, Hester) who had spoken the dreaded phrase.

_"When Castiel first laid hands on you in Hell he was lost!"_

Those 'mere words' seem to drive everything home: Cas's death was his fault. Even if things had played out differently, Dean thought, it would still end like this. Cas would still have died at some point and it would be Dean's fault.

"The Mark of Cain is made stronger through killing," Hannah explained quietly to Sam after the funeral. "So performing the opposite was necessary to breaking the Mark's control. By sacrificing the last if his Grace, Castiel managed to cleanse Dean of the Mark's control." They both looked on sadly at the seated figure that sat beside the fresh grave.

"But what about the mark itself?" Sam asked, turning away from the pitiful sight. Hannah continues to watch Dean's silent sobs for a moment before answering. "He will bear it as a scar; it cannot harm him anymore. I'm afraid that his heart shall not be so easily mended." Sam sighed. Dean had barely spoken since Cas's death the previous week, and only to comment on a detail for the funeral. He had barely slept and had eaten less than nothing. Sam felt less than useless. He looked back at his brother. "Is there anything we can do to help him?" He asked softly. Hannah stared deeply at Sam, thinking. "Perhaps," she mused, half to herself. Then to Sam, "I think I can send you boys cases; that'll help keep his mind off Castiel. I'm afraid distractions and hope are the only plan we have."

**Author's end note: Okay... how was it? Was it heart wrenchingly sad? Was it incredibly fun and exciting? (it was a funeral... I hope it wasn't :) **

**Thanks for reading! If you've made it this far, you deserve a small spoiler. Ready? Alright, this story is going places in the next chapter: Boring places. **

**Please leave a comment, it really makes me so very happy and when you write sad stories you need happiness in your life. (Everyone should be able find happiness, but review happen to be my weakness)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: There should only be two or three more chapters left in this story after this chapter. Wow! Thanks to my lovely reviewer Sarah and to everyone who has following the progress of a random idea I had one day.**

**I feel like I should apologize in advance for the number of boring puns in this chapter... you'll see. Enjoy Chapter four!**

Hannah kept her promise.

The day after Cas's funeral, a newspaper clipping appeared on the table in the Bunker. A roller coaster at a local amusement park had fallen off its tracks half way around its second loop-de-loop, killing several. Survivors said that they saw someone messing with track at a maintenance platform. A few swore that the man had black eyes. Not their kind of normal case, but should be a pretty simple, Sam thought. The amusement park was in a little town called... Sam stopped, reread the sentence and laughed. (He hasn't laughed since before Cas died, since before Dean became a demon). This was too good. He almost ran to Dean's room.

Dean had locked himself in his room since they had gotten back from the funeral. "Real mature Dean!" Sam had shouted at the locked door. Luckily, before Dean had isolated himself, Sam had managed to lock up the alcohol that had been hidden in Dean's bedroom. Sam didn't want to add alcohol poisoning to the list of things he had to worry about.

Now, he carefully rapped on the door. "Dean?" He asked, "hey Dean!" A grumble responded. "We've got a case, so come on out." No response. Sam sighed. Finally he said, "I bet you're wondering where it is right?" Sam then started speaking in a low, gravelly tone, mocking his brother's voice. "Where could our next case possible be Sam, my favorite and most handsome brother?" A snort. Sam smiled as he responded in his normal Sam-voice, "Boring."

"Quit playing around and tell me already Sammy!" The horse voice yelled through the door. Sam smiled victoriously. "I'm not playing Dean. The town is called Boring, Oregon." The sound of footsteps, then the door opened. A bedraggled Dean stood in his funeral clothes. "What kind of sarcastic bastard names a town _Boring_?" Sam handed him the newspaper clipping, "So you're coming?" Dean shook his head, three deaths at _Boring Amusement Park_? How could he resist? Dean looked at Sam, "Give me burger, salt, and a half an hour."

**(Author's side note:****There isn't really a place called Boring Amusement Park, but that would be an AWESOME name for an amusement park.)**

~~~~BORING, OREGON ~~~~

After investigation the park all afternoon, making _plenty_ of boring jokes, Sam and Dean agreed that they needed to look around the park when no one else was there. Sure, there weren't too many people at the park that day, it having been closed pending investigation, but law enforcement doesn't take kindly to a couple of Feds trying to run around their crime scene, mucking up evidence, no thank you, good day sirs.

An amusement park, even a boring one, is very creepy after dark. They found the demon surveying the wreckage, an eerie smile plastered across the vessel's face. Dean ran up to it and put a blade in it chest. But the demon had brought along a few of its buddies.

Overall, they were doing fine, until the demons started taunting. Sam was just finishing off his third demon when he heard the demon speak. The last demon had disarmed Dean, and was standing over him; gloating.

The stolen angel blade shined in the moonlight as the demon brought it next to Dean's throat. "Your angel boyfriend can't help you now freak. Oh, and Crowley says hello." He said as he slit Dean's throat.

The demon's words froze Sam, but Dean's cry set him running towards his mortally wounded brother. Sam quickly decapitated the demon before running to his brother's side. He cradled Dean's head in his lap. Dean's hand covered his bloody neck, trying to prevent himself from bleeding out. Sam pulled out a handkerchief that he had in his pocket (Dean had mocked him mercilessly about it for _years_ until he accidentally sliced open his hand cleaning his knives one night before their dad got home. Thanks to Sam, John never found out). Sam gently pressed the ragged thing into his brother's throat, attempting to stop the bleeding, but Dean pushed him away. Dean gurgled out a few unintelligible words before slumping back, motionless. His blood stained hands fell limp against his blood stained shirt, cradled in his younger brother's blood stain arms.

Sam felt like he couldn't breath as he watched his brother fall completely still. He cried out Dean's name as he saw Dean's eyes, green like they're supposed to be, fall sightless.

Sam watched as Dean let out a last puff of air, never to breathe again.

The trip to Oregon had been anything but boring.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: So here we are, Chapter 5. Thanks so much to Sarah for all of her kind reviews and words of encouragement! Comments really mean a lot. There will be one more 'chapter' but it will be an epilogue. Thanks to all of my lovely followers for sticking with this story! Enjoy. **

The GPS Sam had 'borrowed' said that the trip from Boring, Oregon to the Bunker in Lebanon should take at least 22 hours. It took Sam less than 17.

The ride to the Bunker was a blur. Sam couldn't actually say what happened along the way. It was nothing short of a miracle that he didn't crash the Impala.

When he finally reached the Bunker, Sam gingerly picked up his brother's body and carried it to his room. The only room that Dean had ever been able to call his own since their mom had died. Sam set the limp body onto the bed and closed Dean's dead eyes. He carefully arranged Dean's limp limbs so that none of them hung loosely off the bed. Sam's eyes were an inflamed red, and dried tears stained his cheeks.

Sam immediately fled to the library. He almost ran to the corner of the room, and flung open one of the drawers. The sudden movement of the shelf made a couple of books clatter to the floor, but Sam didn't notice. He pulled out the beer that he had confiscated from Dean after Cas's funeral.

Sam managed to drown out his problems for a while before falling unconscious; a combination of the alcohol and being so damn tired.

Sam's head hurt. A lot. He groggily pulled his head off the library table, a few papers sticking to his face. He blinked incessantly until his vision cleared up a bit. He hadn't gotten that drunk since... Sam frowned. Since Jess. That sobered him a fraction. But what had happened... He froze. Dean. The demon with the angel blade. Sam clenched his fists, desperately wanting to strike out at _something_, just about anything because that damn demon had killed his brother and... Wait. The demon. Sam jerked his thoughts back to the demon. What had he said?

_("Your angel boyfriend can't help you now, freak.__Oh, and Crowley says hello."__Then the blade slit open the skin and Dean screamed, oh how he screamed. Sam desperately didn't want to remember that scream but he_ knew_that he could never forget. It was the sound of being alone_). Crowley? Crowley. Sam knew what he had to do next.

When Crowley appeared, he was seething. "Hallo, Moose," he said through gritted teeth. "Come to ask me for big brother back I suppose. Well sorry to say but I've been... _Overruled_ you could say." The King of Hell glared at Sam with enough fire that Sam nervously checked the demon's trap, making sure that the King was well and truly secured.

Feeling a bit more confident that Crowley couldn't go anywhere (or maybe that was the alcohol), Sam strolled up to the edge of the trap and faced Crowley. "Why did you kill Dean?" Crowley rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Because the way he walked pissed me off. WHY DO YOU THINK MOOSE?"

Crowley took a deep breath. "When his little angel boyfriend turned him human again, lovely ending, by the way, very poetic, I lost my new Knight of Hell. My very best knight, in fact. What better to get him back than to kill him and make him mine permanently? It was going so well, my little lackeys were completely expendable compared to my lovely Knight, until he died."

Crowley looked exactly like a petulant child who had not been allowed another piece of cake. "By all rights his soul _should_ have gone straight to hell but noooooo. His soul flittered up to _Heaven_. Heaven! Can you believe that? Your brother may be 'righteous' but he sure isn't without his fair share of sins. Oh do stop making that face; you look like a moose in headlights." Sam wisely ignored the comment.

"So you're saying that Dean went to heaven after all?" Sam asked softly, not quite daring to believe the King of Hell. Crowley rolled his eyes again. "Seriously Sam, are you sure you're not hard of hearing? That's what I've been saying. God went over my head and gave Dean, my _perfect_ Knight, a free pass!" Sam smiled, relief crossing his face before dropping it again as another thought crossed his mind.

"And what about..." Sam swallowed nervously, "what about Cas? Is he..." Crowley sighed. "Angel boy also flittered up the stairway. Don't worry Moose; the greatest love story ever told is together in death as they couldn't be in life. Angel boy and my Knight. Huh. I was actually cheering for the two of them to finally spill their guts out to each other. Sometimes literally. Now..." Crowley pulled out an elaborate golden pocket watch with an etching of a three-headed dog. "Must dash I'm afraid," he said closing the watch with a soft click. "Mind letting me out?" Reluctantly, Sam scratched out a small section of the demon's trap with his shoe. Crowley smiled. "Kisses."

Later Sam sat at the library's table. Dean was safe, Cas was safe. But he still had this empty feeling inside. Instinctively, Sam poured himself a glass of whatever he had taken away from Dean. Something strong, he hoped. Sam could still feel slight lingering effects of his previous binge.

He glanced at the floor, the pile of books that he still hasn't picked up glared back at him. A book on Demonic possession lay on top of a book on exorcising demons. Could there have been another way to save Dean? Sam poured himself another glass. If they had found a way, and Cas had survived, would Dean still be alive? Sam reached over to grab an unopened flask of whiskey, having finished the first bottle. When had it gotten cold in here? Sam frowned. Had a ghost gotten into the Bunker? Impossible, Sam thought. Ghosts can't get into the Bunker…. Or can they? Sam tried to remember. He was sure that he had read something somewhere about ghosts. Sam giggled. He imagined Casper the Friendly Ghost trying to haunt the Bunker. Sam glanced down at his fingers. When had they become blue? He put his head on the table and took a few deep breaths. The bottle slipped from Sam's grasp and shattered on the floor, but he barely heard it. He fell asleep quickly; completely oblivious to the world. He snored softly; happy at last.

Sam stopped breathing a few minutes later, never to wake up again.


	6. Epilogue

**Author's Note: Finally! Sorry for the delay, but I had ****massive**** technical difficulties. But they're all fixed now (hopefully). **

**Thanks to everyone who has everyone who has read this story, with huge thanks to all of my followers and my lovely reviewer! **

Chuck absently fiddled with the little silver ring on his left middle finger. He'd had this ring for as long as he could remember, and that was quite a long time. The little silver band was a very plain thing. The most miraculous thing about the ring was that it had absolutely no scratches on it. The only mark on the whole band was a simple little etching of an infinity symbol.

With his eyes closed, Chuck watched the soul of his chosen Angel rise up slowly from Earth. Chuck smiled. The soul purposefully tried to weigh itself down, reminding the Reaper who took him of all of his sins. Chuck watched as his son, the fallen angel, tried to fall even further to be with the one he loved. The dead angel would not believe the Reaper when she insisted that he had saved the Righteous Man. Castiel flew to heaven with tears of sadness falling from his eyes.

Chuck watched the Righteous Man departed from his dead body and begin to descend slowly downward.

Chuck opened his eyes and sighed. Suddenly, as if finally having made up his mind, Chuck gave the ring a sharp twist around his finger. The soul, heavily weighted with sorrows, became to ascend towards the heavens. The Righteous Man realized what was happening as the Reaper quietly led him away from the dimmed and rugged path that descended into eternal damnation, and towards a clean, well-kept stairway that rose upwards. Dean Winchester flew to heaven with tears of joy falling from his eyes.

Chuck smiled as he watched his son, the fallen angel, embrace the Righteous Man, finally together in death as they had never been allowed in life.

Chuck saw the youngest Winchester, as he succumbed to his wish to finally be done with everything. Chuck gently gave his ring another twist, allowing the heavy soul to cast off its sorrows and rise up.

The true vessel of Lucifer cried in relief when he reaches the top of the Stairway. Waiting for him was the soul of a girl he had not seen in almost ten years. The two embraced, and Chuck opened his eyes, leaving the mortals to their eternity.

Chuck glanced back down at the beings on Earth. He had hoped that his little experiment would be successful. His Leviathans had always been too violent and his angels had always been too dependent, but his humans... Chuck smiled. His humans had ingenuity. They had created wonders that even he hasn't thought of. Someday, they would spread across their galaxy, never content with themselves until they find the truth. Chuck sighed. The truth was something even he didn't want to face. It was true that he was practically immortal, but everything has to die; every being who had ever created something knows that it must end, eventually. But what, Chuck had wondered, what would happen to his darling humans if he left them alone for a time? So one day, after casting down one of his beloved angels, he left. Chuck left for several millenniums.

Which was a big mistake.

When Chuck came back to check on his humans (he had busied himself creating life in the nearby galaxy his humans called Andromeda) he found that demons had overrun the Earth, that his angels were on the brink of civil war and that the Apocalypse was about to begin. But worst of all, yes, even worse than the Apocalypse, was his humans. Chuck had nearly broken down, tears staining his non-existent eyes, when he saw what they had done in his absence. True, there were always some who had persevered and created so much, but at the same time, there was always someone who had come along and destroyed so much more.

Out of fear for his sacred Petri dish, Chuck disguised himself as a human Prophet, giving himself a small case of temporary amnesia to hide better.

But even that hadn't lasted long. Chuck finally left, not able to bear witness to his children destroying each other.

Maybe one day he would return to Earth, to his home. Maybe, after his children worked out their differences and learned to work together, to build and not destroy, _then_ he would return. Until then, the being known as many names (Chuck Shurley, Carver Edlund, God) would do as he had done for the past few millennia: he would carry on.


End file.
